The Advocate
by gabrielstolethetardis
Summary: Dean and Cas are both in college, but Cas only knows Dean as the weird guy who stands outside the cafeteria every day during lunch and shouts until he's hoarse about the injustices of the world.


Castiel first saw him on his second day of college, when he went to the dining hall for the first time (he was too nervous the first day, and besides, the co-op he lives in makes killer vegan pizza). He almost made Castiel trip over his own shoes when he started yelling at Castiel and his roommates, telling them that the meat used in the cafeteria came from mistreated, hay-fed cows, and they were practically sinners for eating it. When Castiel commented that he was vegan, and he was aware of the injustices done to animals, it did nothing to quell the righteousness of the other guy.

Every day after that, Castiel made it a point to walk past the cafeteria, even if he was eating at the co-op for that meal, just to see hear the stream of protests that spilled from the guy's mouth. Passersby gave the guy squinted glances, some grinning like they knew some secret, others averting their glances and shooting annoyed glares at the guy when he drew closer, upping his volume. Castiel watched it all, his emotions fluctuating from curious to dumbfounded to amazed to… slightly turned on. The more he listened, the more fascinated he became by the absolute _conviction_ of the guy, the way he didn't care that he got more dirty glares than beaming smiles, that other students purposely put in headphones as they drew closer.

Castiel didn't think that the guy noticed him, standing on the fringes and looking in, but halfway through first semester, Castiel approached the dining hall, his breath clouding in the crisp early November air, and found… nothing. No guy, no hoarse shouts, no grimaces and quick footsteps. Just a snow-covered curb and the jacketed bodies of students flowing in and out of the dining hall.

"Looking for me?" a teasing voice asked, and Castiel spun around to see the guy standing a few feet behind him, his hands tucked casually into a brown leather jacket and his green eyes twinkling.

Castiel pointed to the jacket. "A cow died for that jacket."

"Nope." The guy held the jacket open, displaying a white tag that Castiel couldn't read at his distance away. "Fake leather, but still handcrafted here in the United States."

"Sounds expensive. You could've donated that money to charity."

The guy locked eyes with Castiel, clearly catching on. "It was a small, local family. They used their profits to sustain themselves."

"What about those jeans?" Castiel asked, nodding at the worn denim encasing the guy's legs. "Probably made in sweatshops in China by children who can hardly sign their own names."

The guy whistled. "You just don't sugarcoat anything, do you?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"

Something in the guy's eyes shifted. "Huh." He grinned and stuck his hand out, the skin already beginning to redden from the sudden exposure to the frigid air. "My name's Dean Winchester. I'm a sophomore."

Castiel took Dean's hand, noting the rough pads of his fingers and the callouses running along the tops of his palms. "Castiel Novak. I'm a freshman."

"Ah," Dean said, retracting his hand. "I suppose that explains the stalking."

Castiel's cheeks warmed slightly. "I wasn't stalking you."

Dean gave him a look that clearly said he knew Castiel was full of shit. "So lurking in the trees around every meal time and watching me isn't stalking?"

"I was… curious." _Attracted. Mystified. Completely entranced._

Dean snorted. "Funny, I haven't gotten that one before. Disgusted, annoyed, furious, amused… never curious." He squinted his eyes at Castiel, who shifted uncomfortably under Dean's dissecting stare. "Are you going to ask me why?"

"Do people do that a lot?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, some. Most just glare and move on. They probably think I'm schizophrenic or something."

"Hm. Well, I'm not going to ask."

Dean raised a thin eyebrow. "Really? I thought you were curious."

"I am, but not like that. I know why you do it."

"Oh? Do elaborate."

Castiel paused, focusing on something behind Dean's shoulder. A small group of students were crossing the courtyard, chatting and laughing with each other. One of them glanced in the direction of the dining hall and whispered something to his friends; they all looked, almost in unison, staring shamelessly at Dean's back. Even from across the courtyard, Castiel could pick out the inquisitive expressions on their faces; a day without Dean preaching to the masses must have been a rare beast on campus. "You do it because someone has to," Castiel said, glancing back at Dean just in time to see his smile falter, reveal a small flash of softness and vulnerability underneath. "Because there has to be someone to tell people what the world's really like."

Dean's smile fell, but not into sadness—more into a gentle comfort, like Castiel had pressed the magic button and suddenly a sort of trust had formed between them. "That's not what I tell people, but damn, I should."

Castiel's heart fluttered, but he ignored it. "What do you tell people?"

The grin returned, pulling Dean's cheeks up and lighting his eyes up with a luminescence that rivaled the stars and sun. "To go fuck themselves."

Maybe Castiel should've gotten irritated at the irrational rudeness towards people who were just curious, who simply wanted an explanation, but then he glanced at Dean, saw the teasing behind his amusement, and let a grin of his own spill across his lips. "My co-op is having a vegan pasta social tonight. Would you like to come?"

Dean paused a moment, as if considering. "That would require skipping my 5 o'clock sermon. Erasing heteronormavity was next up on my list of issues."

"Ten kinds of sauces. Five kinds of noodles. Tofu meatballs. I think you can make an exception."

"But the _unfairness_ of human assumption—"

Castiel put a hand on Dean's forearm, his pinkie finger slipping underneath the cuff of Dean's jacket and brushing against the fiery surface of Dean's skin. Dean cut off with an inhalation and glanced down at Castiel's hand as if it were both the most beautiful and the most terrifying thing he'd ever laid eyes on. "Ah." He cleared his throat. "Actually, I think it can wait."

Castiel beamed. "Great." Then, his smile slipped slightly, taking on a coy tint. "If you don't have any afternoon classes, we could head to my place early and talk about the alarming amount of undereducated women in third-world countries."

Dean twisted his wrist until his hand aligned with Castiel's. He gently—cautiously? _This_ man, cautious?—wove his fingers between Castiel's, letting out a long breath when Castiel squeezed his hand and rubbed a small circle on his thumb. "Look, don't- don't think that I'm weird, but…" He raised his gaze to meet Castiel's, his eyes wide, deep green portals to another world, one of light and purity and innocence. "I think you're my soul mate."

Dean said those same words to Castiel on the day of their wedding, standing hands-clasped in a quaint gazebo in some small-town park with smart black suits—handmade in the United States, of course. The crowd was sparse—Dean only had his brother, and Castiel hesitated to invite more than two or three of his siblings, so the applause was hardly audible when Dean and Castiel shared their first kiss, savoring the perfection of the moment before separating.

It was before Dean pulled away that he whispered it, ducking his head by Castiel's ear briefly and pressing his lips close, breathing the words in that slightly husky voice Castiel had come to cherish. "You're my soul mate, Cas."

Just before Dean pulled back, a soft smile on his lips, Castiel pressed a ghost of a kiss to his cheek. "We should take charity donations instead of wedding gifts."

Dean's affectionate chuckle, followed by a hand snaking around Castiel's hips and pulling him close, stuck with Castiel for the rest of his life.


End file.
